[ The Countess joins him in a flowing couture gown, cut low in the front, sheer black fabric trailing her as she comes down the stairs (She does, of course, own more casual clothing, but she has so missed sweeping around in evening wear.) Curiously, she has a single silver glove with sharp tips on the fingers. She has always kept herself together in prison, but now she is in full form, like she was painted into existence rather than born.

This is where she belongs.

Beaming, the Countess extends her bare hand to him, not even glancing at the keys. She knows where he's been put, because there's only one place that would call for Flagg, one room that could possibly contain him. Room 64. ]

Oh, it's not much to see. Not nearly as fun as the other things I could show you, love. The amenities have already arrived.